


Sherlock the Babysitter

by crimsonwinter



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Sherlock - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-07
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2018-01-11 11:57:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1172797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonwinter/pseuds/crimsonwinter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock babysits baby Watson and struggles to accept this new reality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlock the Babysitter

John nodded sharply, his military stature creeping back into his form as he brushed off his hands, which were tingling from carrying the baby pack up the stairs.

Apartment 221b on Baker Street was home to so many memories, they filled the walls and hung clinging to the souvenirs that Sherlock had lying about.

The baby in question was being carried up by Mrs. Hudson, who had taken her sweet time in bringing forth the girl from the car, oogling and swooning over her baby appeal.

Sherlock emerged from his room, his blue dress shirt lacking the usual long coat he wore. He spotted John, who was stretching upwards, rolling out his tense shoulders.

The detective was filled with adoration and warmth at the sight of his friend, and when he approached him, John felt the same wave hit him with each crinkle of Sherlock’s smiling eyes winking at him. The men shook hands.

"So, you ready to try your first time babysitting?" John asked, relinquishing his hand from the smooth skin of Sherlock’s. He found similar warmth in his pockets, but nothing could compare to Sherlock’s touch. His cheeks scrunched into a smile at Sherlock’s response.

"Of course! I’ll be the best baby sitter."

"…And uncle." John turned his head towards the kitchen, which had been cleared of the open chemicals. The windows were letting in a soft breeze, and a strange pain in John’s chest arose at the thought of not living in the apartment the men now stood in.

Although Sherlock couldn’t see, John’s face was twisted into a sorrowful smile. John really did miss parading around and solving cases with his friend, but he was a family man and had duties to attend to, including his job, wife, and now, child.

Sherlock poked John’s back tentatively, “How’re things at home?”

John swiveled to face the handsome man, whose own eyes were filled with regret and longing.

"Fine, just …fine." John attempted to flash a reassuring grin, but Sherlock knew him too well, and a small, evil trickle of jealous hope struck Sherlock’s heart. His heart which had the name John painted over it many times.

In fact, things at home for John were less than exciting. After the baby came, Mary was adamantly opposed to anything sexual. Not that their sex life had high appeals; from the days after their honeymoon, things had become a tad dull and John found himself dreaming about the first time he met Sherlock, rather than having images of his beautiful wife swirling about his head.

"Well," Sherlock’s deep voice pulled John out of his thoughts, "Mary really is incredible." He strutted to the center of the living room, where tea had been set up by Mrs. Hudson before retrieving the baby. Mrs. Hudson had sneaked by the men as they spoke, spending as much precious time with the baby girl as she could before Sherlock was bound to take over the first shift.

John and Mary decided to stay at a hotel in hopes of sparking their physical love, that fact alone being the reason why Sherlock was babysitting. John was less than exuberant at the thought, seeing as everything he tried was useless.

John Watson loved Mary. He loved everything about her, from the tips of her short blonde hair to the sounds of her laughter. He had fallen in love with her during his and Sherlock’s time apart, and although Sherlock’s return was startling and confusing, John’s love for his wife remained. After learning of her dark past, he overcame his hurt and found the sexiness in it. His wife was an assassin. 

However, that flame didn’t last as long as he’d hoped, and the spark that he sought from her died, even though her wonderful, accepting nature remained. She had accepted and liked Sherlock from the start, and Sherlock, in turn, was oblivious to his deduction about her past because he had tried to like her. He did like her, very much, and the three of them were good friends up until his disappearance after the wedding.

Sherlock had relapsed because he missed John and he realized that, like his old dog Redbeard, caring was the disadvantage that would bring him to his ultimate demise.

Once Sherlock had died by the hand of Mary, Sherlock knew that nothing would ever keep him from standing by John. He had literally crawled back from the dead so he could remain at John’s side, and although the subject was tender at awkward at their assumed separation, John and Sherlock had learned to become friends again.

Their investigations of Moriarty’s return were, although stressful, what had brought them back - the memories of that poolside night flooding into both their minds like nightmares.

John sat now in his old chair, locking eyes with Sherlock. The realization that Sherlock had made during his time dead had not yet hit John, his duties as a husband and love for Mary keeping him from traveling down that road.

"She really is," John agreed. 

The men were lost in the other’s eyes, recalling everything that had happened in the last year, including Sherlock’s return, John’s attacks on Sherlock, the introduction of Mary, John’s scare with the fire, the Watson’s wedding, Magnussen’s appearance, Moriarty’s shocking hello, and now, the baby. 

Sherlock’s tight skin heated as it stretched across his cheekbones, John’s dark eyes darting down to his mouth.

For one moment, that same tension that the men had felt on their first case had returned, and the ties that held them down were almost broken.

A small, child like laugh wandered from Sherlock’s room and into the men’s proximity, snapping them away from that appealing chemistry they both felt when they were alone for too long. 

Mrs. Hudson appeared with the beautiful girl, her small figure cradling the baby in the doorway. She looked up at Sherlock and John and grinned, joyous with the thought that they were together once again.

"Sherlock, I think it’s time you take care of her now."

The tall man stood up from his chair, his long legs leading his slender body over to his old friend, looking into the squishy face of his new friend.

Sherlock told himself not to look back at John, even though he wanted to.

"Hi," he said, taking the child from Mrs. Hudson’s arms. To her dismay, of course, she relinquished the child and disappeared from the flat.

The child opened her eyes, which were a beautiful grey just like her father’s, and Sherlock was filled with pain, love, and hope all at once.

It was painful to see the physical proof that the man he loved now loved another, but the child was a product of security and romance, and as long as John was happy, Sherlock hoped that his life would be without the stress that he had caused him.

John found himself caught in the sight of his friend holding his child, and thoughts of love and adoration swarmed him as well. 

Watson packed up his bag quickly and rushed to leave in hopes of forcing the thoughts of Sherlock as a father out of his head.

It had only just recently hit him that he was a father, and the thought of someone else causing Sherlock to feel that made him sting with jealously. He couldn’t explain it, so he just nodded to Sherlock when the tall, dark man looked up, and left quietly.

Sherlock was alone in his flat with his best friend’s daughter and the tears that had been welled inside him since his realization finally came out and dripped on the soft blanket the precious babe was wrapped in.


End file.
